Dogs, Clothes, & Vodka
by Meridian31
Summary: "Dogs don't wear clothes!" / Drabble. One-Shot.


That last pretzel shot may have been a bad idea.

"Ya think?" You moved your head from the car window where you'd been resting it, looking over to Roman with wide eyes. He was currently driving your car through the night on the mostly deserted road.

How had he read your mind? When did he get that superpower?

"You said that out loud," he explained, glancing over and reading your surprised face for what it was, before looking back to the road.

"I regret nothing," you proudly declared, grinning widely to yourself. "'Twas a fun, funnnn night."

"Lemme know if you still feel that way in the mornin'," Roman replied.

"You're pretty. Have I told you that today?"

"You have not," he answered, smoothly making a turn on to your street, causing your loose body to move more than usual with the change in direction.

"You're pretty," you repeated. "I feel like I didn't see you at all tonight."

"I was around," he assured you. "Keepin' an eye on you and the girls."

"I love those girls," you sighed happily, referencing a number of females from the WWE, including the Bellas, Renee, and Nattie. While you did not work in the wrestling industry, or even truly understand it, having been with Roman for well over three years, you'd been accepted into the circle entirely.

"I'm glad you had fun," he stated, pulling in to the driveway of the home you shared in Florida. "Just maybe next time, little less of the drinking." You giggled happily as he turned the car off in the garage. "Now, how about we go to bed?"

"Go to bed, or _go to bed_?" Your eyebrows wiggled a bit as you grinned lasciviously at him. Roman shook his head to himself, chuckling, as he unbuckled his seat belt.

"Let's just get you in the house first, alright?"

"Okay-day!" you sing-songed, unbuckling your own seat belt. Opening your door, you held it tightly as you stumbled your way out of the vehicle. Slamming the door shut, you leaned back against it, grinning at Roman who had come around to your side.

"Don't you need your shoes? Purse?"

"Meh, they can stay here," you waved off. "They're locked away, safe."

"Alright then," he replied. "You gonna make it up the stairs?"

"Ay captain!" Roman sighed, turning and walking up the aforementioned three steps to the door that led into the mudroom. You swayed along behind him, using the railing to hoist yourself up into your house.

Using the wall for guidance, you made your way into the kitchen, where Roman was already getting out two bottles of water from the fridge. After cracking one open, he held it out to you which you took. You leaned your body forward across the counter, your elbows resting on the cool granite. You were languid in your movements, your back arching a bit as you stretched out, enjoying the feel of the cold countertop.

The sound of nails clicking on the floor filled your ears as your dog came barreling into the kitchen, most likely having been asleep upstairs like always. You immediately abandoned your water bottle on the counter, sliding down onto the floor into a heap, allowing her to scamper all over you. You giggled loudly as you attempted to pet her and simultaneously fight off her consistent kisses.

"Are you OK to make it upstairs?" Roman questioned, and you missed the amusement on his face as you fended off yet loved on your pit bull.

"Yep! Once Shay and I are done appreciating each other, I shall be there!"

"Drink your water, please," he requested, taking his own bottle and leaving the room.

You barely spared him a glance, now lying on your side on the floor, holding your dog tight to yourself. She allowed it for a moment, before wiggling free, and then jumping all over you. Sober you probably would have felt the pain from her landing on various parts of you, but drunk you was just laughing and attempting to catch her.

It was about five minutes of cuddling and playfulness with your puppy before you decided to head upstairs. There was a bit of a process to getting off the floor, utilizing the bar stools and counter to get yourself back on your feet.

There was a number of minutes between you getting out of the kitchen and you going upstairs. It took a couple breaks, a lot of pulling yourself up with the railing, and some guidance from the walls to get to your bedroom. Shay, ever loyal, stayed at your pace as you made your way.

When you got into your bedroom, you looked around, expecting to see Roman but didn't. It took you a second to figure out he was in the bathroom, as you heard the shower running. You contemplated joining him, but after gazing at your bed, you made a different decision.

With your shoes already off, all you had to do was tackle the slip on, form-fitting gold dress you were in. While it wasn't overtly fancy, it was good for a night out drinking with friends. It took you a moment to be able to contort your arms appropriately to get it over your head, and once it was free, you flung it.

It landed right on Shay, who you hadn't even realized was still standing nearby.

"Dogs don't wear clothes!" You laughed to yourself as you yanked your discarded dress off your dog, who looked bewildered and unsure about what was going on. Once she was free of the object, she fled out of the room. "I also do not wear clothes." Looking down to scan over your own body, you decided that sleeping in your lingerie was completely acceptable.

With the grace of a newborn giraffe, you got onto your bed, yanking down the comforter and sheets. You wiggled around a bit until you got onto your back, an arm over your head, and the other hanging off the side of the bed.

You apparently had started to doze off, as you jerked awake at the feeling of someone getting into the bed with you. Roman, now only in a pair of briefs, easily situated himself next to you. Once he was in the bed, you rolled yourself over, sprawling onto his chest.

"Ro, you 'member when we met?"

"Mmhmm."

"I think…I tried to drink like I did back then now," you decided, snickering to yourself. "'Member when you used to try…to fuck me in…bar bathrooms?"

"You're makin' me sound hella sleazy."

"You _are_ ," you replied, placing a loud 'smack' of a kiss to his chest, hopefully near his heart. "But you're MY sleazy sleaze. My pretty, sleazy person that I love lots."

"Why does vodka do this to you?"

"Because it's delicious and I am also delicious," you reasoned.

"Go to sleep," Roman directed, tangling his hand in your loose hair, nails scratching ever so gentle against your skull. You immediately nuzzled your face into his chest, practically liquefying under his ministrations. The longer he continued to play with your hair and massage your head, the harder you were finding it to keep your eyes open.

"Ro?"

"Hmmm?"

"You're delicious too."

"Good to know. Now, sleep."

"Yessir."


End file.
